Truth Never Lies
by PenNoire
Summary: No one knew who it was that spiked the pumpkin juice. One thing was for certain, though – Harry's eighth year at Hogwarts was about to get infinitely more interesting.
1. Chapter 1

**_Truth Never Lies_**

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to J. K. Rowling

**Warnings**: Non epilogue compliant, some strong language, slash

**Rating**: M

* * *

**Chapter 1**

No one knew who it was that spiked the pumpkin juice. The current generation of Hogwarts students might have suggested the Weasley twins, but there was only one Weasley twin left and he was no longer at Hogwarts. The previous generation – and their teachers – would have instantly pinned the blame on the Marauders, but there were none of them left either. Therefore, the only person who knew the identity of the culprit was the culprit him- or herself, and he or she was most definitely not telling.

At first, nobody realised there was anything amiss at all. Harry sat opposite Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, all three of them having returned to Hogwarts to complete their education. Most of their year mates were also in attendance and the house tables had had to be extended to hold the equivalent of eight years' worth of students. The hall echoed with the sounds of chatter and laughter, and Harry couldn't help but smile to himself. Even now, months after he'd returned to the school, the sights and sounds of life returning to normal – even better than normal, actually, now that they knew Voldemort was gone for good – made everything he had gone through, everything he had endured, seem worthwhile.

"Harry? Harry?"

He blinked, glancing across the table. Hermione was looking at him with her eyebrows raised, obviously glad to have finally gotten his attention. He flushed slightly.

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

She smiled at him. "It's fine, I was just asking you to pass the pumpkin juice."

He grinned in embarrassment and passed over the nearly empty pitcher. "Here. There's not much left though. Everyone's been at it this morning."

"Doesn't matter," Ron muttered through a mouthful of toast, spraying crumbs everywhere, "They'll fill it up downstairs."

True enough, after Hermione poured the last few drops into her glass the pitcher disappeared, only to reappear a few moments later full to the brim. Harry grinned, topped up his own glass and transferred some more eggs and bacon to his plate. He felt movement to his left and glanced up, stifling a groan when he noticed Ginny was slipping onto the bench next to him.

"Morning, Harry!" she said cheerily, and Harry replied wearily. It wasn't that he didn't like Ginny – she was a good friend, and his best friend's younger sister – but he didn't like _like_ her. The realisation hadn't hit him in one single moment; it was something that had dawned on him gradually over time. After the war had ended she'd spent the majority of her time with her family as they collectively came to terms with Fred's death. Harry, not wanting to intrude, had filled his time with renovating Grimmauld Place. He hadn't managed to finish the whole house over the summer, but at least half of it, which was more than enough for him to live in, was modern and new.

As soon as they returned to Hogwarts – Harry to take his seventh year, and Ginny to retake her sixth – things had started to get complicated. Ginny wanted to pick things up where they'd left off more than a year previously, but for Harry, it just didn't feel right. The thing was, his feelings for Ginny hadn't changed; instead, he came to the realisation that those feelings weren't the ones he needed to form the basis of a relationship. He considered Ron and Hermione – who'd finally got together after the war – and the way they looked at each other, like nothing else mattered in the whole world, like nothing life could throw at them would break them apart. Harry cared for Ginny, definitely, perhaps even loved her, but not like that.

Unfortunately, defeating Voldemort hadn't made Harry any better at expressing his feelings. He'd tried to tell her, he really had, but her face had just been so hopeful and Ron had been giving him the thumbs up from the sofa by the fire, and the words had died in his throat. Instead, he'd mumbled some crap about wanting some more time, and she'd looked disappointed but had agreed to wait for him. It was awful of him to let her believe something was going to happen, he knew, but he just didn't have the courage to tell her that this wasn't what he wanted.

Ginny reached over and snagged a piece of bacon off his plate. It was behaviour like this that annoyed Harry, but as usual he let it slide.

"So," she said, "It's Hogsmeade this coming weekend."

"Is it?" Harry said noncommittally, taking another mouthful of his pumpkin juice. He rarely paid attention to the notices anymore given that, as a special privilege for choosing to return to Hogwarts, the final years were allowed into the village whenever they wanted. Harry had spent many evenings this year walking around Hogsmeade and the surrounding countryside, basking in the peacefulness and tranquillity and the utter calmness of knowing his life could truly start.

"Sure is," Ginny said, grinning, "So, do you want to go together?"

"No," said Harry.

He didn't realise what he'd said at first. When Ginny's mouth dropped open, Hermione frowned and Ron sprayed a half-chewed mouthful of breakfast all over the table, Harry swivelled round on the bench to see what was going on behind him that had caught their interest. Confused, he turned back to his friends to see them all looking at him guardedly.

"What?" he asked.

Ginny smiled sweetly. "I think you must have misheard me, Harry. I just asked if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"No," Harry said, and this time he slapped a hand over his mouth in shock. He glanced from face to face, wide-eyed, and carefully tried to enunciate the word. "Y- no. No."

"Harry, you want to say yes, don't you?" Hermione said softly.

"No," Harry said again, and he ran his hand back through his hair. Something was wrong.

Hermione slowly drew her wand. "Harry, I'm just going to check that there are no hexes or jinxes on you, okay?"

"Okay," Harry said, and shivered as he felt the tingle of the sensing charm wash over him. He felt Ginny slip a hand into his, and as casually as he could he pulled it away to fiddle with his robes. He heard a chorus of giggles from the Hufflepuff table and he watched curiously as one girl fled the room, head in her hands, but before he could wonder as to what could have happened he felt the spell leave his skin and look up to see Hermione frowning.

"Well, it doesn't seem like you've been spelled," she said, "I'll go to the library at lunch and see if I can find any sort of spell with these effects that can evade detection charms."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said in relief.

Ginny sighed and patted his hand. "Poor Harry. I'm sure you'll be sorted before we go to Hogsmeade, won't you?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly, then frowned. Ginny's question was rhetorical, so why had he answered it? Confused and frustrated, he angrily pushed his plate away, grabbed his bag and stormed off to Potions.

* * *

"Where did you go?" Ron whispered angrily when he and Hermione arrived ten minutes later, "Ginny's upset about you, and you just left!"

"I came to Potions," Harry said.

"Well, I can see that!" Ron snapped, "But you didn't need to just walk out!"

Harry was saved from coming up with an excuse by Snape striding into the room. He stood in front of his desk, narrow eyes sweeping over the heads of his (supposedly) most competent students. Harry shrank beneath the Potion Master's gaze. He was glad Snape had managed to survive Nagini's bite, he really was, but that didn't mean he enjoyed being ridiculed and maligned on a day to day basis.

"Before we start today's potion," Snape said icily, "Please place the homework on Pognini's laws of immiscible potions on the end of your benches."

Harry pulled the scroll out of his bag, setting it on the bench in front of him. It was a few inches short of the required two feet, but he hoped Snape would either not notice or not care. _Fat chance of that_, he thought. A movement in front of him had him glancing up, and he froze when he realised Snape was stood right in front of their workbench. Surprisingly, however, it was not Harry that seemed to be the focus of Snape's ire.

"Mr Weasley," Snape whispered silkily, "Where, pray tell, is your essay?"

"I didn't do it, sir," Ron said, then instantly glanced sideways at Harry in horror. Harry's eyes widened as he realised that Ron had no more meant to admit that than Harry had wanted to tell Ginny he didn't want to go to Hogsmeade with her, even if it was the truth. _Wait, the truth_...

"And what, Mr Weasley, was more important to you than Pognini's laws?"

"Having sex with Hermione," Ron said.

The classroom erupted. Snape stumbled backwards a few paces, looking slightly sick. Ron, his horrified face completely green and looking even closer to vomiting than Snape, ran out of the room as if there was a dragon on his heels. After freezing for a few moments Hermione also dashed out of the room and Harry, knowing that Potions was going to be a write-off anyway after that outburst, hurried after her.

"Hermione!" he yelled as she rushed up the stairs ahead of him.

"Not now, Harry," she panted.

"Hermione, I think I know what's going on!"

She paused then, turning to look down at him. "What?"

"I know what's going on! Tell me a lie," Harry said urgently.

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

Hermione frowned. "My middle name is Jean," she said, and instantly looked shocked, "I didn't mean to say that!"

Harry groaned. "Veritaserum."

* * *

By lunchtime, everyone knew that, somehow, the majority of the school population had been dosed with veritaserum. Afternoon classes were cancelled as the teachers began to individually interview all the house elves, and the atmosphere at lunchtime was subdued as everyone glanced warily at each dish, wondering which ones were safe to eat and which ones might hold unforeseen horrors. Ron, unsurprisingly, wasn't there, and neither was Hermione, leaving Harry to sit with Neville, Seamus and Dean at the Gryffindor table.

"We've just got to be careful not to ask each other questions, right?" Neville asked nervously.

"No. Veritaserum makes you tell the truth, whether you're answering a question or not," Harry said, "Give it a try."

"My feet are a size nine and they most definitely smell," Seamus said, "Oh, I guess you're right."

"What do you suppose it was?" Neville asked, "I mean, none of the teachers were affected."

"I honestly don't know," Harry said with a wry grin, "The bacon, maybe?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know for sure, but wouldn't it be easier to hide it in a drink than on food? It is a potion, after all."

Harry groaned. "Pumpkin juice," he said, "The teachers don't have that."

Seamus snapped his fingers. "It could be that, then."

Harry sighed and stood up. "I supposed I'd better go let the teachers know. See you guys later."

He left the hall and turned right, heading down the staircase that would lead to the right corridor. He rubbed his temples absently. Who the hell would have the means to dose almost the entire student body with veritaserum? It was a restricted potion, and not exactly simply to brew either. He reached the bottom of the staircase and headed for the painting concealing the entrance to the kitchens, but just before he got to it a clearing of the throat behind him had him wheeling round.

"Malfoy?" he asked warily.

"Good morning, Potter," Malfoy said, leaning casually against the wall in his school trousers and jumper. Harry idly wondered where his robe was.

"It wasn't, really," Harry said, then rolled his eyes and sighed when he realised what he'd said. Apparently this particular batch was strong enough to affect even figures of speech. On the other hand, though, Malfoy hadn't had any trouble with that particular greeting, meaning that in his opinion, it must have been a good morning. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Did you spike the pumpkin juice, Malfoy?" he asked.

"No," Malfoy said, and Harry had no choice but to believe him.

"What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.

Malfoy shuffled from foot to foot, and he looked apprehensive. Harry grinned; he'd asked Malfoy a direct question, and he'd have to tell the truth.

"I wanted to thank you," Malfoy ground out, and Harry's eyebrows rose, "For sending me my wand back. I never thanked you."

"Oh," Harry said, "You do know that was months ago, right?"

"Of course I do," Malfoy muttered, "But I haven't had the chance before, given that you're constantly surrounded by your loyal followers and admirers."

"Am I?" Harry asked, surprised. Malfoy was saying it so it must be true, but at the same time, it was only Malfoy's interpretation of the truth. If he considered 'constantly surrounded' as Harry walking between classes with his friends, then yes, it was probably true.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, and Malfoy's eyebrows shot up. Harry himself was a little gobsmacked. Was he actually sorry that Malfoy hadn't had chance to talk to him? He must be, if he'd said it under the potion's influence.

"Well, I'm saying it now. Thank you, Potter."

"You're welcome, Malfoy."

Malfoy turned to leave, but then he paused and looked back over his shoulder. Harry froze at the evil grin on his face.

"By the way, Potter, who did you lose your virginity to?"

"I haven't lost my virginity," Harry said, and he felt his face flame. Malfoy looked shocked, and he quickly turned and hurried up the stars. Harry wanted to call after him, to explain himself, but he wouldn't be able to stop himself telling the truth, which was just as embarrassing as the fact that he hadn't done it yet. _How would Malfoy like that? I never slept with Ginny because, whilst I know she's attractive, she's not _sexually_ attractive to me?_ _Malfoy would have a field day!_ Harry shook the thoughts out of his head, waited five minutes for his blush to die down, and went down to the kitchens.

* * *

That afternoon, Ron was still too mortified over having blurted out his sex life to Snape to emerge from the boys' dormitory, so Harry accompanied Hermione to the library so she could do some more research into the potion during their free period. Harry doodled on a piece of parchment and, on a whim, tried to write, _My name is Malfoy_. What he wrote was, _My name is Harry_. Harry frowned and showed the parchment to Hermione, who instantly attempted her own written test with exactly the same results.

"That's highly irregular, for the potion to be strong enough to affect writing as well as speech," she murmured.

"I wouldn't know," Harry said, and they both rolled their eyes in amusement. Hermione's quill hovered over her scroll of notes for a moment more, before she set it down and cast the muffliato charm.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

Hermione bit her lip. "This morning, at breakfast, when Ginny asked if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with her, you said no."

"So I did," Harry said.

Hermione reached across for his hand. "Do you want to be with her?"

Harry sighed and rubbed his temple. He didn't want this discussion, he'd never wanted it, even though he knew it would have to happen sooner or later. Perhaps this incident was a blessing in disguise, if it would allow him to get his true feelings off his chest.

"No," he admitted truthfully.

Hermione released a deep breath. "You should talk to her, Harry. Stringing her along isn't fair on her."

"I know," Harry said, "But I just hate disappointing people."

Hermione's eyes softened. "I know you do, but the longer you leave it the more disappointed she'll get."

"I know," Harry repeated, "I'll talk to her soon."

"It might be easier to do it while the potion's still in effect."

Harry winced. "I'm scared of what I'll admit."

Hermione frowned. "What would you admit, other than that she's not the girl for you?"

"That I don't find her or other girls sexually attractive. Bollocks!"

Harry dropped his head onto his arms, mortified. _At least_, his conscience mused, _you admitted this to Hermione and not Malfoy_. The thought wasn't much comfort and he groaned softly. There was silence for a long moment, then Hermione placed a hand on his back.

"Harry? I feel awful asking this when you can't lie or tell me to go away, but are you gay?"

Harry tilted his head, looking up at Hermione's worried face. "I don't know," he answered honestly, and the relief at getting that off his chest was overwhelming. He turned his head back down, too nervous to check Hermione's reaction. It was a secret he'd carried for a long time, and whilst he'd often thought about talking it through with someone to try and make some sense of his feelings, he'd never been brave enough to approach someone. Who would he have gone to, anyway? How would he have said it? _Yes, I think Cho and Ginny are pretty, but in my dreams and in the shower the faceless person I imagine is always male?_ If he fantasised about men, though, how come he could still find women attractive?

He felt an arm slip round his shoulders and Hermione's long, slender fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry I pressured you into this. I think we should go somewhere more private to talk, don't you?"

"Yes," he mumbled as he hurriedly gathered up his books and parchment. He and Hermione ascended the staircases to the seventh floor, heading for the Room of Requirement, but when they got there the room wouldn't materialise for them. Harry walked back and forth at least a dozen times in frustration but no door appeared.

"Somebody must already be inside," Hermione said softly, and Harry sighed as he realised that the room, after being used as a safe hideout for a large number of students the previous year, was no longer a mostly private and well-kept secret. They chose an empty classroom instead, and Harry grinned in tired amusement when Hermione warded it with the same level of protection as she had their campsites the previous year. She transfigured a couple of desk chairs into a comfortable sofa, and Harry gratefully flopped down and curled up next to her.

"How long have you known?" she asked kindly.

"How long have I known that I don't know if I'm gay or not?" Harry laughed tiredly, "Since fourth year, I guess. I fancied Cho, Hermione, I really did, and I fancy Ginny. They're both really attractive, but they just don't... I don't... I..." He trailed off. As he'd answered the original question honestly the potion wasn't forcing him to finish his sentence, and he didn't know how to put his confused thoughts into words.

"Oh Harry, you could have talked to me!"

"I didn't know how," he mumbled, and she gave a little wince, knowing he must be telling the truth.

"Ron's my boyfriend now, leaving you my only best friend. You can tell me anything."

"You looked stunning at the Yule ball in fourth year," Harry said without thinking.

"Oh. Well, thank you. But we didn't come here to talk about me, did we?"

Harry blew out a frustrated breath between clenched teeth. "No. I'm just so confused, Hermione! I know I should like girls and I do; I fancy them, I find them attractive, but when I think about going all the way with a girl the thought does nothing at all for me!"

"But the thought of going all the way with a man does?"

Harry's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Yes."

Hermione took his hand firmly. "Please, Harry, stop looking at me as if I'm going to walk out on you. It doesn't bother me at all. You're my best friend, and I love you just the way you are."

Harry sighed in relief and dropped his head onto her shoulder. "Thank you."

She slipped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed gently. "No problem. So, are there any boys you have your eye on?"

Harry felt his cheeks flushing magenta. This subject had been taboo, even in his own thoughts, for so long that it felt inherently wrong to be talking about it out loud.

"I don't have my eye on anyone. I haven't allowed myself to look for that someone special."

That made Hermione look more distressed than anything he'd said so far. "You've been telling yourself that you're not allowed to be with a man, haven't you." It wasn't a question.

Harry fisted his robes. "Yes. You know about the Dursleys. They hated me, but there was one group of people that ranked even lower than me. I'm sure you can guess. I grew up thinking and believing that it was wrong and disgusting, and when I realised that I might be one of them..."

Hermione hugged him tighter. "You never have to see them again if you don't want to. It doesn't matter, Harry. It really doesn't. Not to me, and I know it won't matter to Ron, He'll be disappointed that you won't be his brother in law, but he won't stop being your friend over this."

Harry glanced up at her. "You really believe that," he said, knowing she must do, because she was under the potion's influence just like he was.

"Yes," Hermione said simply, "So, you said you haven't allowed yourself to look, but I know you, Harry Potter, well enough to know that there aren't many rules you haven't broken, even ones you might have imposed on yourself. You might not have liked what you were doing, but you must find some men attractive."

Harry flushed; there was no loophole in that, unlike when she asked if his eye was on anyone. "Oliver Wood was the first," he admitted, "Although I didn't realise it at the time. It was only later, when I was trying to figure this out after the Cho disaster and started thinking about all of this that he popped into my thoughts. Jeremy Gibbins is cute – he's two years below us, a chaser on the Ravenclaw team – and Malfoy..."

He slammed his mouth shut before it could betray him further. _Malfoy?_ Seriously? Since when? _Since you realised how wonderful his arse looked as he ran up the stairs this morning_, his brain helpfully supplied, _he really filled those trousers well, didn't he?_ Brilliant. On top of the potion, ending his pseudo-relationship with Ginny and spilling his entire armoury of secrets to Hermione, he now had to worry about accidentally admitting to the entire school that he might, just might, find Malfoy a little, tiny, miniscule, teensy-weensy bit attractive. He shook his head, realising Hermione was staring at him with her mouth slightly open.

"Hair," he finished lamely, "Malfoy has nice hair." _And a nice arse, but you're probably better off not knowing that._

"Oh," said Hermione, "That bit, Ron might not like so much."

* * *

When Harry got back to the boys' dormitory, the hangings were pulled shut around Ron's bed. The room was otherwise empty and Harry dumped his bag at the foot of his bed before clearing his throat softly.

"Ron? You okay, mate?"

"Of course not," came the disembodied groan from behind the hangings.

Harry opened his mouth to tell Ron that it wasn't that bad. "It was pretty bad, Ron," were the words that came out of his mouth, and he mentally kicked himself.

Ron let out a crazed chuckle and the curtains pulled back enough for Harry to see his pale face and red-rimmed eyes. "I suppose I should have just done the homework. I don't know when Hermione gets time to do it all..."

He trailed off and groaned. Harry smiled wryly and took a seat on the edge of Ron's bed.

"Maybe you better quit while you're ahead, mate."

"I think you're right."

Harry twiddled his thumbs and took a deep breath. "I can't be with Ginny, Ron."

Ron snorted. "I kind of figured that out when I realised what had happened this morning."

"You did?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Yes. I might not be Hermione-smart, but I can connect dots pretty well. I would have thought seven and a half years of getting trounced in chess would have shown you that. You don't want to go to Hogsmeade with Ginny, and I assume you don't want, well, the rest."

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said softly, and he honestly was, because a part of him felt like he was losing his link to the only real family he'd ever had.

Ron nodded slightly. "Have you told her yet?"

"No."

"Tell her soon."

"I will. I promise."

Ron sighed heavily. "How long do you reckon this is going to last?"

"I don't know, but it depends on the strength and concentration of potion consumed," Harry said promptly.

That resulted in a chuckle from Ron. "You've been studying with Hermione." He paused. "Does she hate me for what I did?"

"Of course not," Harry assured him, "She knows you couldn't help it."

Ron nodded and swiped a tired arm across his eyes. "Good. I think I'm going to try and nap a bit. Can I ask a favour? If I wake up later can I borrow the cloak to get to the kitchen?"

"Course you can," said Harry, not even having to think about it.

"Thanks mate. You're the best."

And knowing that Ron couldn't be lying, that made Harry feel pretty damn good.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Truth Never Lies_**

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to J. K. Rowling

**Warnings**: Non epilogue compliant, some strong language, slash

**Rating**: M

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The next day dawned as a typical February morning; the sun was shining but the air was crisp and chill, even in the Gryffindor boys' dormitories. For that reason, Harry stayed curled up under his duvet for as long as he knew Hermione would allow him, and when he eventually decided it was time to get up and brave the cold he ran straight to the shower and turned the hot water up to the max. The room quickly filled with steam, and he was grateful for the anti-fog mirrors as he lathered up his face and shaved. At one point the razor paused and he looked his reflection straight in the eye.

"I look like James Potter." That came out easily enough, so he took a deep breath and tried a lie. "I am Harry Potter," he said, then thumped the sink in frustration. "I still can't lie," he murmured, and that was the truth.

Ron decided to brave breakfast, and Harry and Hermione walked on either side of him as they entered the hall. Harry instantly wished they'd gone to the kitchens, as Ron cringed at the sound of jeers and catcalls that echoed in the large room. Hermione's glare was stormy as the three of them marched to the Gryffindor table and sat down, and she quickly erected a muffliato around them.

"Thanks," Ron muttered, looking slightly pale.

"It's probably best to cast this in between classes as well," Hermione advised them, "The Slytherins were out in force yesterday, shouting out dreadfully personal questions at people who then had to answer."

"Horrible people," Harry said angrily, a little annoyed that the potion wouldn't let him call them fucking dickheads (which, technically, he supposed they weren't). At least it brought a slight grin to Ron's face.

All three of them avoided the pumpkin juice.

They stayed together within the muffliato as they headed to Potions. At the start of the year, Harry had been far from impressed when he'd found out he'd have to endure double Potions for two days in a row, even more so when he realised that Slughorn had eagerly headed back into retirement and Snape had once again taken over the position. It was necessary, though, as many of the seventh year potions required a sitting time of almost twenty-four hours before being finished off. He wondered what they would be covering today, given that they hadn't started a potion yesterday.

Harry was glad of the muffliato when they entered the dungeon classroom; Padma Patil and Ernie Macmillan looked sympathetic, but the other three Ravenclaws were smirking and Harry could read the Slytherins' lips well enough to realise that they were intentionally trying to provoke Ron. Nott curled his left hand into a loose fist and smirked as he thrust his right index finger in and out of it in a universally-understood, crude gesture. Harry flipped him the finger and sat down, but not before noticing that the only Slytherin not taking part in Ron's humiliation was Malfoy.

Snape entered the classroom promptly and Harry groaned as he felt the muffliato fade and vanish from around him, just in time to hear the Potions professor's first words.

"I know you will all be aware of the situation by now," he stated, "And the headmistress believes that, as final year students, you are all mature enough to be informed of the details." He cast a withering look at Nott, who quickly hid his hands beneath the desk. "Yesterday's pumpkin juice was laced with a veritaserum more powerful than any I have ever come across. A typical application of three drops of standard potion normally lasts for roughly half an hour. Obviously, this potion is far stronger, and initial trials I conducted yesterday evening showed that the traditional antidote is ineffective. However, by the time I could develop a more powerful antidote the original potion should have worn off, so the only thing to do is let it run its course. During this lesson I will take each of you individually into my study and, by correlating the levels in your blood with the strength of the samples I extracted from contaminated pitchers, I will be able to give a rough estimation of how long each of you will be under the influence. Patil, come."

Padma got up from her seat at the end of the row and dutifully walked through the door he held open for her. Before closing it he turned around and met each student's eyes in turn.

"You will behave. You will not ask invasive questions of each other. Do so and you'll be serving detention for the rest of your school life."

The door banged shut behind him and Ron let out a strangled moan. Harry patted his back sympathetically. There were Slytherins in the class – of course Snape's rules weren't going to be obeyed.

"So, Weasley," Nott leered, "Is Granger a good shag?"

"Yes," Ron choked out helplessly and the other students burst into laughter. Harry drew his wand, preparing for the inevitable all-out brawl, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Loquor constanter!" she yelled, the peach-coloured light spiralling from her wand and hitting Nott in the throat. His eyes bugged out for a second and the whole room watched in silent astonishment as Hermione grinned maliciously. "What facts about you humiliate you the most, Nott?" she spat.

"My middle name is Merissa because my mother was disappointed I wasn't a girl I wank to the image of a muggle woman called Amy from the local village who laughed at me and said I was too small for her where it matters I have fantasies about being tied up and blindfolded and I recently ordered the catalogue from Deena's Magical Dungeon I haven't been brave enough to order anything yet but there is a set of fleece-lined handcuffs..."

Hermione abruptly ended the curse and Nott's mouth snapped shut as he glared at her in humiliation. Hermione glared back before sweeping her gaze around the silent room.

"Anyone else have anything to say? No? That's a shame," she said, sitting down and stowing her wand. Harry stared at her in wonder. The babbling curse combined with veritaserum? Genius. Ron gazed at her in adoration.

"I love you," he said, threading their fingers together.

"I love you too," she murmured back.

"That was brilliant!" Harry said.

* * *

"A month," Harry groaned as he slid back into his seat, "A whole damned month this is going to last!"

Hermione looked startled. "Why so long?"

"Because I was a complete glutton and drank way too much of the pumpkin juice," Harry replied before sighing and dropping his head onto his folded arms. He heard Snape call for Ron and Hermione together, and he idly wondered if the professor was going to apologise for causing Ron's embarrassing admission yesterday. He pushed those thoughts aside to focus on his own problem. His blood veritaserum level had been off the chart. Snape had looked surprised, and Harry was going to be stuck telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth for a month. It was going to be torture. He felt someone sit down next to him and he glanced up, expecting Ron and Hermione to be back. Instead, he almost fell off his chair when he realised that it was Malfoy.

"Morning, Potter," Malfoy said, and Harry noticed that he'd dropped the 'good' from the beginning of the greeting.

"Morning, Malfoy," he replied, sighing in relief when the potion granted him that much.

"Listen," Malfoy said, glancing around and making sure the rest of the students weren't paying attention before switching his focus back to Harry, "I'm sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have asked you something that personal. Please accept my apologies."

Harry sat, stunned, knowing his mouth was hanging open but unable to close it. Malfoy was _sorry_? Actually sorry about causing Harry embarrassment and humiliation? Had Malfoy had a personality transplant recently or something? If it wasn't for the potion Harry wouldn't have believed him. As it was, Malfoy was under the influence of the potion just like Harry was, and Harry had already found out that he couldn't deviate from the truth even slightly.

"Apology not accepted," he said, then winced. He'd meant to say 'apology accepted', because then Malfoy and his puzzling attitude and his hair, which was looking particularly gorgeous and drool-worthy this morning, would have gone elsewhere and left Harry to cope with this confusing attraction in peace. Apparently, though, the part of Harry's brain that wasn't currently drooling over how Malfoy's hair looked soft and shiny and run-your-hands-through-me inviting was still too embarrassed over the forced confession to accept the apology. _Stupid brain_, he thought, then corrected that to _stupid voice box_.

"Oh," Malfoy said, looking surprised and a little perturbed, "I'm sorry you feel that way. Is there anything I can do to make you accept my apology?"

"I need tutoring in Potions," Harry's traitorous voice box said, "I want to be an Auror and I need to bring my grade up."

Malfoy frowned, creating the most adorable little wrinkle between his eyebrows. _No,_ Harry told himself firmly, _Malfoy is not in any way adorable._

"I can tutor you," Malfoy said, and he looked satisfyingly surprised by his own words, his eyes widening and his lips parting slightly.

_He is most definitely adorable, _Harry's brain told him, _you're just being stubborn, as usual._ Harry frowned. Shouldn't his own brain be on his side? It must be the veritaserum, he decided. Not only was it affecting his speech and writing ability, it was starting to affect his thoughts too.

"Why haven't you asked Granger to tutor you?" Malfoy asked.

"Because she's busy most evenings with Ron," Harry said then kicked himself under the table, feeling like the worst friend in the world.

Malfoy flushed but smiled shyly. "So, how long do you have to put up with this?"

"A month," Harry grumbled, "You?"

"The same," Malfoy groaned, "And believe me, I'm never touching pumpkin juice again."

Harry laughed softly and tried to say 'me too', but the words didn't come. Apparently his subconscious hadn't been put off pumpkin juice for life. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

"Will you be free to tutor me on Saturday afternoon?" he asked.

Malfoy frowned. "Yes, but I have Quidditch practice from one until three; shall we say three thirty in the library? It will give me time to have a shower and get changed."

Harry most definitely did not think about Malfoy in the shower. "That's fine," he said, trying to keep the words and expression as neutral as he could.

Malfoy nodded. "See you then," he said, but before he could turn away he added, "I'm looking forward to it."

His cheeks flushed and he ducked his head, making a hasty retreat from Harry's desk. Harry sat open-mouthed. Malfoy was _looking forward_ to tutoring Harry? The thought did funny thinks to Harry's insides, and he mentally took the thought, threw it on the floor and jumped on it until it was flatter than a pancake. This time yesterday he wouldn't have given Draco sodding Malfoy the time of day; how had things changed so quickly? Was it really the potion, or was it something else? _Something else_, his brain said, _it was your talk with Hermione. You never allowed yourself to look before, so you never saw what was right in front of your nose. He's no longer pointy or skinny or cold. He's bloody gorgeous._

"Will you shut up!" Harry exclaimed angrily, only to flinch when a hand that turned out to be Ron's fell onto his shoulder.

"Harry? Who are you talking to?"

"My brain," Harry said, and then he felt even more stupid.

"Oh," Ron said in surprise and confusion, "Well, you tell that brain, Harry. Show it who's boss."

They both flushed and silently agreed to keep quiet for the rest of the lesson.

* * *

Things didn't get any better for Harry as the day progressed. That evening, the potion started to wear off in the people who'd only taken a few sips of the spiked juice and one of those people was Ginny. She came looking for Harry after dinner and he wearily escorted her up to the boys' dorm room, asking the others to give them some privacy for a while. She sat on Harry's bed and folded her arms.

"The potion's worn off," she informed him.

"It hasn't for me," he said.

"Good," she said, "Then maybe I can finally get some honest answers."

Harry didn't wait for her to ask the questions. He sat down opposite her on Ron's bed and he talked, telling her everything he thought she needed to hear. He told her that he'd been confused over his sexuality but he'd finally worked out that whilst he could appreciate a woman's attractiveness he definitely wanted and needed a male partner, and when it looked like she was about to get upset he hurriedly told her that he did love her, but more like a sister than a potential romantic partner. When he finished he sat back on the bed and crossed his fingers behind his back.

"Well?" he asked nervously.

Ginny sighed. "In a way, I'm relieved."

"Relieved?" Harry gasped

"Of course. It was starting to get demoralising, thinking I mustn't be good enough for you. At least I know it's not a reflection on me; I can't help what's in my pants, after all."

Harry groaned, feeling his cheeks flush. "So, can we stop talking about this now?"

Ginny frowned and examined her nails. "I said I was relieved. That doesn't mean I'm not angry that you've been leading me on."

She socked him in the jaw. The punch caught Harry completely by surprise and he flew back onto Ron's bed with a whoosh. He blinked dazedly up at the hangings, raising a hand and gingerly inspecting the damage. He vaguely wondered if Malfoy's face had hurt this much when Hermione slapped him in third year, then he wondered how and why Malfoy had managed to invade the majority of his thoughts that day. Damn Hermione for opening up a whole can of worms he wasn't ready to face!

"Sorry about that, Harry," Ginny said unashamedly, "But I needed to get that out of my system."

"Ouch," Harry groaned as he pushed himself back into a sitting position, gently massaging his jaw and probing for loose teeth with his tongue, "That hurt!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It was supposed to, you idiot. Anyway, I suppose there's some good that's come out of all this; I finally have someone to gossip about boys with."

Harry felt his face flame further. "Gossip? But... but what about the other girls in your dorm? Luna? Hermione?"

Ginny shook her head in amusement. "The only boy the girls in my dorm want to talk about is you. I can't wait to see their faces when you come out – Priscilla Farrington will probably try and get a magical gender change just so she still has a chance with you! Luna told me the other day that she knew we weren't going to work out because I'm fated to marry the crown prince of the Norwegian cliff fairies, and Hermione... well, she's dating my brother, so despite her brains she obviously doesn't have the best taste in the world."

Harry couldn't help but smile. He'd missed this Ginny, he realised, the one he could chat to easily without worrying he'd say something to offend her. She was going to make one lucky guy very happy one day.

"Thanks, Harry," she said softly, and he hadn't realised he'd spoken out loud, "You will, too."

* * *

On Thursday evening, Harry shut his book with a decisive thump and slipped it into his schoolbag.

"Going somewhere, mate?" Ron asked, glancing up from the prospectus for the Premier London University of Magic and Enchantment (PLUME) he and Hermione were looking through.

_I'm tired so I'm going to get an early night_, Harry meant to say.

"I'm tired of feeling left out while you two do your own thing so I'm going to get an early night," Harry said. His eyes widened in horror. "I'm sorry. I'm happy for you two, I really am," he mumbled hastily before dashing from the room. He threw himself onto his bed, absolutely mortified. _Great. First Ginny, then this. Will I actually have any surviving relationships left by the time stupid potion wears off?_ At this rate, it was looking doubtful.

* * *

On Friday afternoon, he tried to write a suitable apology note to Ron and Hermione during Transfiguration. His outburst seemed to have really upset them, and he hated that he'd blurted that statement out like he had. He thought writing the note would be easier than a verbal apology, as he could take his time and ensure he didn't make another blunder. Unfortunately, it wasn't as simple as he'd hoped. He could write _I'm happy for you_ but he couldn't write _I didn't mean what I said_, because what he'd said had been the truth. It was so bloody frustrating, and he couldn't concentrate on it properly with McGonagall talking away in the background.

"Mr Potter?" He looked up guiltily to see Professor McGonagall looking at the piece of parchment he was writing on with her eyebrow raised. "That must be important. Would you care to share your thoughts with the rest of the class?"

"Definitely not," Harry said, flushing.

McGonagall's other eyebrow rose. "Oh, but I insist, Mr Potter."

"I wish you'd shut up because I can't concentrate with you talking away in the background," Harry said, promptly groaning as the rest of the class broke into sniggers, "So, when's my detention?"

* * *

By Saturday afternoon, Harry was completely and utterly fed up. He'd spent the previous evening in detention with Professor McGonagall, and whilst she'd been sympathetic to his plight, it hadn't stopped her handing him the polish and directing him to the trophy room. Luckily, she'd left him to get on with it alone, which meant she didn't hear his not very flattering, but truthful, mutterings.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Have you thought about cursing yourself mute yet?"

"Yes," Ron groaned, equally as fed up.

"Why haven't you?"

"Because Hermione told me not to. Damn, I didn't want to admit that."

Harry snorted. "You're whipped, mate."

"I know," Ron chuckled, scratching his neck, "Please don't tell her I admitted that, though, and can you please stop embarrassing me?"

Harry laughed. "I'll try my best," he promised.

"Good," Ron sighed in relief, "So, do you have any plans for this afternoon? I was thinking we could go flying. Just the pair of us, without the team."

"I can't," Harry said, the potion drawing the words out of him, "I'm studying Potions with Malfoy."

Ron stared at him, wide eyed, for a moment, then laughed loudly. "You lucky thing; you could have told me your potion's worn off!"

"It hasn't," Harry said.

Ron stopped laughing. "So, what, you aren't lying? You're actually studying Potions with Malfoy?"

Harry picked at his thumbnail. "No, and yes. Don't look at me like that; it wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for the potion. He made me admit something embarrassing, then apologised and asked how he could make it up to me. I told him I needed to get my Potions grade up and he offered to tutor me."

To Harry's horror, there was only one part of his explanation that Ron seemed to have paid attention to.

"What embarrassing thing did he ask you?"

He instantly looked apologetic and mortified over having asked, but it didn't stop the potion dredging up the answer.

* * *

Harry was in a foul mood as he headed down to the library. He mentally cursed Ron's insensitivity and loose tongue. True, Harry's admission had been made in the privacy of the boys' dormitory and not in Potions, but at least Ron had a sex life to brag about. Even the thought of admitting that he was a virgin in front of the entire Potions class filled Harry with dread.

The library was practically empty. He wasn't surprised – it was a Hogsmeade weekend after all, and it seemed that the only people who hadn't gone were the first and second years, who were too young, and the eighth years, who had the freedom to go whenever they liked and therefore generally avoided the busy days when the rest of the students were permitted to go. Nevertheless, Madam Pince surveyed the room as if she expected someone to set off a whole crate of Fred and George's best fireworks amongst her precious books, and Harry held his breath until he'd tiptoed safely past her.

He headed for the back of the library, where the group study areas were located. Malfoy was early, already seated at a table next to a large window. His hair was still damp from his shower, wet strands sticking stubbornly to his forehead. An array of books was already spread out in front of him and he was frowning at a particularly ancient-looking tome, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips as he concentrated. He made a quick note on his parchment then flipped a page, causing a cloud of dust to fly up into his face. He sneezed delicately, and something in Harry squirmed at the unexpectedly adorable noise. _No_, he told his brain firmly, _we've already been through this. Not adorable_.

He cleared his throat softly and Malfoy glanced up, lips curving into a soft smile. "Ah, Potter. You're early."

Harry frowned and checked his pocket watch. "Only by a minute."

"I expected you to be late," Malfoy said, then flushed, "Come on, have a seat."

Harry did so, pulling his quill and parchment out of his bag. "How was Quidditch practice?"

"Awful – you're going to trounce us next match." Malfoy groaned as Harry grinned. "Please don't ask for details, Potter. My teammates won't be best pleased if I reveal our strategy, even if it is bordering on diabolically deficient. Anyway, we're here to discuss Potions, not Quidditch. Is there any particular topic or area you need help with?"

"All of it," Harry mumbled embarrassedly.

"All of it? You mean the whole seventh year syllabus?"

"No. Everything."

Malfoy gaped at him. "Potter, we've been studying Potions for seven years! How can you not… You got into the NEWT class, for Merlin's sake! You must know something!"

Harry scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Slughorn only wanted an Exceeds Expectations, not an Outstanding. I vaguely know the theoretical stuff, like the recipe lists for some potions, but that's about it. I don't know why different ingredients interact the way they do, and, well, you've seen me in class; I'm pretty terrible at brewing. I got lucky on the OWL; the practical exam was an Invigoration Draught, which was one of the only potions I've ever been able to brew."

Malfoy frowned. "You improved a lot in our sixth year."

Harry bit his lip. "I had help in our sixth year."

"Help? From Granger?"

"No, I had Snape's old textbook." Harry sighed at the admission, picking at his fingernails absently. "I followed his notes rather than the actual textbook, and you saw how well my potions turned out. It helped that Snape wasn't teaching the class; I was more relaxed with Slughorn, as he didn't hover over me and constantly belittle what I was doing."

Malfoy stroked a thumb down his chin. "I think that's your main problem. When you're brewing, you need to be relaxed. If not, your hands will shake and you'll cut things unevenly, or your stirs won't be smooth. Knowing the theory behind each potion is essential as well, because if anything does go wrong you need to know how to counteract it." He reached across the table and pulled forwards a hefty book. "Right, so if I'm going to tutor you, I need to assess what you already know. We'll start with the basics. How does the direction of stirring affect the properties of potion ingredients?"

* * *

"Well?" Harry asked when Malfoy eventually finished quizzing him.

Malfoy sighed and rubbed his temples. "You have a lot of learning to do, Potter," he said, "And it's going to take more than one tutoring session a week."

"You'd be willing to give me more?" Harry asked in surprise. A part of him hadn't expected Malfoy to show up to this single session given that the arrangements had been made under the veritaserum's coercive influence, and he would have expected Malfoy to take delight in the knowledge that Harry was going to fail spectacularly at the Potions NEWT. Additional tutoring sessions were not something he would ever have expected.

"Yes – your knowledge is shockingly inadequate, even at the basic level." Malfoy slotted three books into his bag and flicked his wand to send the rest of them back to their correct shelves. "Are you free Monday?"

Harry shook his head. "No – Quidditch practice. Tuesday?"

Malfoy nodded. "That works for me. Dig out your first year textbook and read up to chapter five before then."

Harry gaped at him incredulously. "You're giving me homework?"

Malfoy arched a fine eyebrow. "Yes. Do you honestly expect me to cram seven years worth of Potions lessons into a few months? I'm good, Potter, but not that good. Of course you'll have to study independently. At the start of Tuesday's session I'll test you on what you've read, and we'll go through anything you get wrong or don't understand. Any other potion-related questions?"

"No," Harry said, getting up and throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder, "I'll see you Tuesday, then." Then, before he could stop it slipping out, he added, "Thank you, Malfoy."

"It was my pleasure, Potter," Malfoy said.

Harry gaped at him. Pleasure? Tutoring Harry was Malfoy's _pleasure_? He saw comprehension of what he'd said dawn on Malfoy's face, instantly followed by a fiery blush that most definitely did not make him look adorable. He quickly snatched up his bag and disappeared off between the bookshelves, leaving Harry frozen to the spot as he tried to process what those five words meant. _It was my pleasure, Potter_. He was telling the truth – there was no way he couldn't be with the veritaserum – which meant that, incredibly, disbelievingly, Malfoy must have enjoyed tutoring Harry.

And Harry, if he was honest with himself, had enjoyed being tutored by Malfoy. Malfoy hadn't made fun of Harry's shockingly poor grasp or understanding of the subject, or sneered when Harry gave some pathetically wrong answers. He'd been calm and patient and completely handsome when the sunlight glinted off his hair like that… _No, scratch that last one_, Harry thought firmly, tugging his hair in frustration. He had to get a better grip on his thoughts or there was no telling what he might inadvertently blurt out.

Besides, there was no point thinking about how striking Malfoy was. He'd hated Harry for years. He'd probably only offered to tutor Harry as recompense for Harry testifying at his trial, ultimately keeping both him and his mother out of Azkaban. Heck, perhaps being pleasant to Harry was a condition of his parole. As for the '_it was my pleasure, Potter_'... well, that was probably because he enjoyed having the Saviour of the Wizarding World dependent on him for help.

Harry sighed and shifted his bag into a more comfortable position. Even if Malfoy, perfect pure-blooded Malfoy, had any inclination towards men, Harry didn't think there was anyone with whom he was less compatible. He thought back over all the taunts and insults over the years, all the 'Mudbloods' and the jibes about the Weasleys and Harry's parents. Malfoy, he reckoned, was like a swan – beautiful and graceful on the outside, but vicious and cruel to anyone he didn't like. There was no point wasting any more time thinking about a man like that. Harry nodded firmly, glad that he'd got that sorted out in his head. He conjured up the memory of a bare-chested Oliver Wood in the Quidditch changing room, smiled in appreciation, and left the library.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Truth Never Lies_**

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to J. K. Rowling

**Warnings**: Non epilogue compliant, some strong language, slash

**Rating**: M

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Hermione threw her arms around him when he entered the Gryffindor common room on Monday morning.

"Harry!" she exclaimed excitedly, "My name is Mildred!"

Harry blinked dumbly. "No it's not." Then he realised what that meant. "The potion's worn off?"

She grinned. "I can lie again! Isn't it wonderful?"

"I wouldn't exactly call lying wonderful," Harry said, before shaking his head in exasperation and hugging her back, "But I can't say I'm not jealous."

She rubbed his back soothingly, and Harry heard a conspicuous throat-clearing behind him. "You'd better not be trying to steal my girlfriend, mate," Ron said jovially.

"Of course I'm not," Harry shot back, pulling away and grinning at the gangly red-head, "Seriously, she's all yours."

Despite the fact that Ron would still be under the potion's influence for another few days, and Harry for another three weeks, they were all in high spirits thanks to Hermione's new-found freedom of speech. As it was, even Potions couldn't wipe the smile off Harry's face, although the first words out of Snape's mouth had his good mood evaporating rather quickly.

"I've assigned you partners for this particular potion," he said. Harry and Ron exchanged a nervous glance. "Consult the list and seat yourselves promptly at the appropriate bench."

"Git!" Ron mumbled under his breath as he studied the sheet of parchment, "He's put me with Nott!"

"At least Goyle's not in the class anymore," Hermione murmured consolingly as she headed off to sit next to Terry Boot. Harry squeezed in between Zabini and Ron to examine the parchment and felt his insides twist when he saw the name written next to his. He gulped, doing his best to ignore the strange sensation – _swan, remember_, he told himself, _beautiful but dangerous_ – and slid onto the seat next to Malfoy.

"You'd better pay attention, Potter," Malfoy said, although his tone was teasing and light-hearted, "I have no intentions of failing this potion."

"Believe it or not, I never actually set out trying to fail," Harry retorted.

Malfoy smiled slightly, and Harry realised with a jolt that their exchange could only be described as playful banter. Friendly, even. There were no windows in the dungeon classroom so he couldn't tell if there were any pigs flying outside or not, but he imagined there might be. He had to forcibly remind himself of the conclusions he'd come to on Saturday, but it was hard with Malfoy's smile lighting his face up in a way Harry had never seen before. He shook his head, fought down the blush that was becoming an almost permanent fixture on his face, and hurriedly copied down the list of instructions on the board. By the time he'd finished, Malfoy had already collected their ingredients and lit the fire under their cauldron. He passed the jar of purple-striped jellyfish tentacles to Harry.

"Here, you get started on chopping these. Remember to wear gloves, and make sure the sections are uniform and no longer than one quarter of an inch."

Harry pulled on his dragonhide gloves and scanned his notes. "That's because bigger sections would have a smaller surface area to volume ratio and so uptake of the sea slug slime would be slower, right?"

Malfoy froze, turning slowly to face Harry with wide, astonished eyes. "Yes. Merlin, Potter, that's exactly right! How on earth did you know that?"

Harry's flush deepened. "It was in chapter two of the textbook you told me to read. There was a section on the interaction between solid and liquid ingredients, and it discussed size ratios and stuff. I suppose if I'd have actually read the textbook back in first year I might have done a bit better at potions over the years – the concepts weren't exactly difficult."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You know, Potter, you might actually not be a lost cause after all."

Harry beamed and set about slicing the jellyfish tentacles.

* * *

They finished off the potion the following morning. Harry and Malfoy's was the exact shade of lavender their textbook described, and Snape nodded approvingly when he peered over the rim of the cauldron.

"Exquisite work, Mr Malfoy," he said, "Ten points to Slytherin."

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Actually, Professor, Potter did his fair share of the work and should share the credit."

Harry's eyes widened. Malfoy was standing up to Snape for him? He stared at Malfoy incredulously. Snape stared at Malfoy incredulously. The rest of the class turned to stare at Malfoy incredulously. Malfoy drew himself up to his full height and stared right back.

"Is that so?" Snape whispered disbelievingly.

"Yes," Malfoy said, "He even had the idea to add a pinch of powdered griffin talon to stabilise the potion after I accidentally added one too many newt tails."

If Harry didn't know any better, he'd say Snape was about to keel over from shock. He was swaying slightly on his feet, glancing between the two of them as if he expected them to burst out laughing and announce that they were joking. Of course, that wasn't going to happen. Both Malfoy and Harry were still affected by the veritaserum, a fact that Snape must have known given that he did the testing, and therefore he must also have known that they were being one hundred percent truthful. His face twisted into a harsh grimace and his hands tightened on the bench top, his knuckles white.

"Ten points to... to Gryffindor," he spat out before turning and striding away. The room was silent, everyone too shocked to move. Snape had just awarded points to _Gryffindor_. Harry thought that Snape announcing undying love for Moaning Myrtle would have shocked them less. He turned disbelievingly to Malfoy, who was casually examining his nails.

"I think you might have broken Snape," Harry said.

Malfoy shrugged. "You deserved it. Are we still on for our tutoring session this evening?"

Harry smiled, feeling a little giddy after what had just happened. "You bet!"

* * *

"Very good," Malfoy said, putting a tick on his sheet of pre-prepared questions.

Harry was feeling pretty good about himself. There had only been two questions he hadn't known the answer to, and in both cases Malfoy had flipped to the appropriate page in the book and explained the concepts to Harry in a way that was simultaneously easy to understand and completely non-patronising. He idly wondered if Malfoy had considered going into teaching – he was far better than Harry would have thought at this tutoring business.

They were once again sat at a secluded table at the back of the library. Even though it was chilly outside, the large windows let in so much light that the room was actually quite warm, and both boys had dispensed with their outer robes fairly quickly. Malfoy had also loosened his tie and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt, and Harry had to occasionally pinch himself to stop his gaze drifting to the long, elegant line of Malfoy's pale neck.

"Okay," Malfoy said, "And why does the egg have a different effect in the forgetfulness potion?"

"I don't know," was Harry's instantaneous, veritaserum-induced answer, but both he and Malfoy ignored his words. It had been the same all evening; Harry didn't know the answers off the top of his head, but after a few minutes thinking time he'd managed to work his way to the correct solution. He frowned and scribbled down the ingredient lists. He knew Malfoy and Hermione could do things like this in their heads, but he found it a lot easier to write a problem down and scrutinise it that way. He took his time, nodding when he finally figured out the answer.

"It's because of the potions' deviations from neutrality," he said, "The cure for boils is slightly acidic because of the mooncalf saliva, whilst the forgetfulness potion is alkaline due to the hippogriff bile. That means the runespoor egg will implode in the forgetfulness potion rather than explode, as in the boil cure, so it's the egg membrane that gives the potion its properties rather than the yolk."

"Correct," Malfoy said happily, "I do believe that I am a miracle worker."

Harry snorted and scribbled his findings down on his sheet of notes. "Don't get too cocky – we've only had two sessions."

"Yes," Malfoy acknowledged, "But in these two sessions you've managed to grasp the majority of the concepts and rules that govern potion-making. Once you memorise these, it's a simple matter of applying your knowledge to each new recipe you come across."

"You make it sound so easy," Harry sighed.

"You'll be fine, Potter," Malfoy said with a grin, "So, when will you be free to meet up again? Saturday? Same time as last week?"

"That sounds fine," Harry said reaching out to gather his books and various pieces of parchment that were scattered about the table. His fingers bumped into something solid and he cursed as Malfoy's inkwell tipped over, splashing the Slytherin's books with black ink.

"Damn! I'm sorry," Harry swore as he stood up and leaned over the table, grabbing the inkwell. The next moment, the world seemed to freeze as long, warm fingers curled over his and Harry gasped. Malfoy had apparently reached out to right the inkwell too, and now his hand was wrapped gently but firmly around Harry's own. Harry forgot how to breathe as the soft, smooth skin of Malfoy's palm brushed the back of his hand and the tips of Malfoy's fingers rubbed lightly against his knuckles. Time stopped, and Harry realised that no touch he'd ever had, not even his kisses with Cho or Ginny, had ever felt half as good as the feeling of Malfoy gripping his hand.

He heard a breathy gasp and his head snapped up, his eyes meeting Malfoy's. Malfoy's pupils were dilated, almost none of the steely grey iris visible, and his lips were parted slightly as he stared at Harry. The intense gaze pinned him in place, and Harry had the feeling that Malfoy was reading his every thought, his every emotion, his very soul, in his eyes. Harry shuddered, and couldn't help the soft moan that escaped his mouth.

Then one of Malfoy's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise and the spell was broken. Harry blinked, gasped and yanked his hand away in horror, hardly able to believe what had just happened. Malfoy had just held his hand. Accidentally, of course, but even so, that tiny bit of skin contact had been enough to completely shut down Harry's brain and turn him into a whimpering pile of goo. And Malfoy, damn it, had witnessed every single moment of it.

_But he was staring at you!_ Harry's brain supplied excitedly, _maybe he likes you too!_

_Don't be an idiot,_ Harry snapped at it, _Malfoy's as straight as a wand._ _I've just outed myself to him! Me, Harry Potter! Of course he's staring!_

And at that realisation, Harry started hyperventilating. Oh hell, he wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready for people to _know_. He was only just coming to terms with it himself! But now Malfoy knew, and under usual circumstances Harry thought he might have kept the revelation to himself and use it as blackmail material. At the present time, though, he and half the school were dosed with veritaserum, and the news would spread like wildfire. Harry felt sick. He opened his mouth to stammer an excuse for his reaction to the contact but the words wouldn't come, because in truth, there was no excuse. He bit his lip and ducked his head to hide his flaming cheeks.

"I'll see you Saturday, Malfoy," he spluttered, hastily sweeping everything into his bag and running out of the library. He didn't look back.

He ran all the way to Gryffindor tower despite the stitch that quickly grew in his side. He barely had the breath to gasp the password, and when the portrait swung open he dashed into the common room. A quick scan revealed that Ron and Hermione weren't there, so he changed course and ran for the stairs leading up to the boys' dormitory. They'd been sat on Ron's bed looking at the PLUME prospectus earlier; he supposed they must still be there.

"Harry, wait!" someone called behind him but Harry ignored them, charging ahead and throwing open the dormitory door.

Hermione and Ron were still on Ron's bed, but the PLUME prospectus most definitely wasn't. Neither was the duvet. Or their clothes.

"Oh fuck!" Harry yelled, throwing up his arm to cover his eyes with enough force that he hit himself in the head and went tumbling backwards out of the dorm. He went down in a heap to the sound of Hermione's shriek and Ron's expletive-filled bellow. He groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and gently probing the back of his head where it had collided with the hard stone floor.

"Ouch," he murmured. He lay, dazed, until a hand landed tentatively on his shoulder.

"Harry? Are you okay?" Hermione asked concernedly.

"Head hurts," Harry mumbled, "Is it safe to look?"

Hermione chuckled, the pounding in Harry's head fading as she cast a healing charm. "Yes, it's safe."

Harry cracked his eyes open wearily. "Anyone would think you'd never heard of a privacy charm."

Hermione, whose shirt was buttoned up wrongly, gripped his arm gently whilst Ron shuffled about in the background, throwing blankets and pillows back onto the bed. "There was one, Harry. Not very powerful, but we cast one. So the question is – what got you so upset that your magic tore it to shreds?"

"I accidentally held Malfoy's hand and now he knows I'm gay," Harry answered immediately, "Damn this veritaserum!"

Any noise Hermione might have made was drowned out by a loud smash as Ron wheeled round, knocking a bottle of some sort of wine off the bedside table. "You're _gay_?" he spluttered, gaping at Harry.

Harry gaped back. "Yes! I thought you knew! You said you'd figured it out! You said you'd connected the dots!"

"Yes, that you didn't want to be with Ginny!" Ron exclaimed. With his shirt unbuttoned, hair all over the place and eyes wide, he looked half mad. "Not that you fancy blokes!"

"Oh, stop shouting, Ronald!" Hermione snapped before slipping an arm around Harry's waist and helping him up, "It's okay, Harry. Come and sit down and tell us what happened."

So Harry did. Since Ron had obviously grasped the wrong end of the stick after their previous discussion, Harry started there. He talked about the revelations Hermione had helped him come to, how the potion had made him admit to himself his burgeoning physical attraction to Malfoy, and finally the events of that evening. He trailed off when he'd finished, lowering his head and picking at his fingernails. Despite the reassurances Hermione had given him over a week ago, he was still nervous about Ron's reaction, particularly after his outburst earlier. Finally, Ron gave a heavy sigh.

"Men I can deal with, mate, but I would've thought you'd have had better taste than Malfoy."

Harry's head snapped up as he stared at Ron in astonishment. "You're okay with it? With me?"

Ron frowned. "Of course I am. I'm slightly insulted that you thought I wouldn't be. You're my best mate."

Harry ignored the slightly smug, I-told-you-so look on Hermione's face and clasped Ron's shoulder briefly. "Thanks. That means a lot."

Ron nodded. "Like I said, though, you have rubbish taste. What the hell do you see in Malfoy?"

"His hair is drool-worthy and his arse looks brilliant in his school trousers and he's actually been nice to me whilst he's been tutoring me," Harry said promptly, before scowling at Ron, "Now please shut up."

Ron looked faintly green. "Sure."

Harry sighed glumly. "Don't worry, though. I haven't forgotten that he's been a complete arse to the three of us for years. I'm not about to just pretend all that never happened."

"That makes me feel slightly better," Ron admitted in relief.

Harry pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "It doesn't matter what I think about him, though. He's straight, and he knows about me, and whether it's accidental or not he'll surely tell someone else and it'll be all over the Prophet by Thursday, or maybe even tomorrow's evening edition."

Hermione rubbed her thumb over the back of Harry's hand comfortingly. "You don't know that for sure. Do any of the other Slytherins know he's tutoring you?"

Harry frowned. "I don't think so."

"Then why would any of them even think to ask him questions about your preferences?" she reasoned, "Probably the best thing to do would be to avoid him completely; if people don't know you're associating with him then they've no reason to quiz him about you."

Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged. "Sounds good to me. We'll stick with you and make sure he doesn't get near."

It wasn't their best plan ever and it left a hell of a lot to chance and good luck, but they had nothing better, so Harry agreed.

* * *

By the time Saturday rolled around, Harry was a bag of nerves. He'd managed to avoid Malfoy for the rest of the week; except for a few glances across a silent classroom or a packed great hall at mealtimes, Ron and Hermione had kept him firmly away from the blonde Slytherin. Astoundingly, their crude strategy appeared to have worked; no whispers had followed Harry around, and the Prophet was blissfully free of any articles at all focussed on Harry. Incredibly, it seemed that Malfoy had been able to keep his secret. Unfortunately, that discretion only increased Harry's attraction towards him.

He couldn't explain why he was feeling the way he was. Like he'd said to Ron, he hadn't forgotten everything Malfoy had put them through over their time at Hogwarts, but he genuinely seemed different this year. Then again, the war had changed him, as it had everyone. Before, he'd been arrogant and conceited, more sure of himself than he had a right to be, an attitude driven no doubt by his family name and wealth. Now, his name meant nothing and the majority of the Malfoy fortune was gone, taken by the Ministry as reparation, and Malfoy seemed to have matured and mellowed because of it. Could it be possible that the man the war had made him into was one Harry could get along with, perhaps even call a friend? Didn't Malfoy deserve a second chance as much as anyone? Harry wanted to believe that the answer to both questions was yes. The only problem was that that fact, combined with the stunning good looks Harry had recently noticed, was making the other boy hard to resist.

After lunch on Saturday he sat with Ron and Hermione at a small table next to a window in the common room so they could work on their Charms essays together. Well, Hermione worked on her essay, Ron – who had been potion-free since mid-morning and was over the moon – hurriedly scribbled down anything she accidentally said out loud, and Harry gazed out of the window at the distant Quidditch pitch and the tiny figures zooming around. Every now and again he'd tear his gaze away from the window and guiltily scribble something down on his parchment to make it look like he was working, but his mind really wasn't focussed enough. Now, if this was Potions and Malfoy was helping him then it would be a completely different matter...

"Harry?" he heard Hermione say distantly. He glanced away from the window and realised she was frowning at his sheet of parchment. "Harry, this is ridiculous. We're supposed to be analysing and comparing various methods of protective enchantments. 'We used Protego Totalum, Cave Inimicum and Salvio Hexia last year and they all seemed to work okay' isn't really what Professor Flitwick is looking for."

Harry shrugged, ignoring Ron's sniggering. "My mind's just not on Charms at the minute."

"Obviously," Hermione said.

Harry sighed and glanced out of the window again, immediately noticing that the tiny figures had disappeared. A quick glance at his pocket watch confirmed that Malfoy's practice had just ended. He bit his lip and started gathering up his things.

"Going somewhere?" Hermione asked.

"To the library, for my tutoring session."

She looked shocked. "But we decided you were going to avoid him!"

"In between classes, yes," Harry conceded, "But like we said, the other Slytherins don't know about these sessions, and I need them. They're really helping, and you know I need at least an E to get into Auror training."

"No you don't," Ron piped up, "They offered us the fast track, remember? We didn't even have to do this year at Hogwarts!"

"I remember, but you know I don't want any special privileges just because of my name," Harry argued. He turned to Hermione. "If he wanted to tell someone, he's had plenty of chance this week. I'll be fine."

Hermione eventually acquiesced with a soft sigh, and Harry left the common room with Ron's assurances that if he wasn't back by the time dinner was served, they'd come looking for him. For the first time, Harry was the first one to arrive at the library and he quickly commandeered their usual table in the otherwise deserted group study area. He rolled his quill nervously between his fingers. He hadn't lied to Hermione when he said the sessions were helping – he couldn't lie, of course – but he hadn't mentioned the other reason he wanted to carry on being tutored.

They'd had two tutoring sessions so far, and already Harry had come to realise that he genuinely enjoyed Malfoy's company. Even though he knew the possibility of anything happening between the two of them was zero, he didn't want to stop seeing the Slytherin. Harry knew his attraction to someone who would never be able to return his feelings was unhealthy, but he just couldn't help himself. He supposed he'd have to settle for their tentative amicability instead.

"Wow. You're eager."

Harry looked up and let an easy grin spread onto his face as Malfoy sat down opposite him. "It was this or the Charms essay."

Malfoy smirked. "I see your point. So, where were we?"

* * *

The first half an hour progressed much the same way as their previous sessions had. Malfoy asked Harry questions about the reading he'd set, and Harry answered to the best of his abilities whilst trying to sneak surreptitious glances at the way Malfoy's damp hair curled against his neck. It wasn't until they got into a debate about technicalities that things got interesting.

"But they're the same thing!" Harry insisted.

Malfoy looked scandalised. "Mincing and dicing are most definitely not the same thing. It's no wonder all your potions were disasters if you didn't prepare the ingredients correctly!"

"They both mean chop something up into small pieces..."

"Yes, but Potions is all about the subtleties, Potter! Here, let me show you the difference."

Malfoy got out of his chair and rounded the table, sitting down next to Harry. Harry's heart immediately started beating faster as Malfoy's clean, crisp scent, tinged with hints of apple and cinnamon, washed over him.

"Look at these illustrations. When you dice, you aim for all the sections you produce to be the same size and shape, whereas when you mince, that's not relevant. Here, I've got some verbena you can practice on (don't look at me like that – I'm not mad, the aroma of this plant helps cure headaches) and you'll need something sharp."

Malfoy reached across the table to grab his quill, the movement causing his thigh to brush against Harry's. Harry's breath hitched, and he desperately turned a gasp into a hacking cough. Malfoy seemed not to notice and tapped the quill with his wand, nodding in satisfaction when the edge turned razor-sharp.

"Here, use this. Show me how you'd dice this stem."

Harry took hold of the quill, carefully avoiding the sharp edge, and held it gingerly above the verbena stem. He glanced at Malfoy for confirmation, then carefully brought the quill down through the stem, being careful not to cut into the table. The stem sliced easily, sending up a sharp citrus scent. Confidence growing, Harry quickly made another three cuts.

"No!" Malfoy exclaimed, "I said dice; that means uniform sections, like this!"

Harry expected him to take the quill and verbena stem and demonstrate the correct action. He did not expect Malfoy to stand behind him, wrap his hands around Harry's, and guide his hands through the correct motions. For several long moments Harry froze, unable to do anything as Malfoy manipulated his hands. They were warmer than before, and still slightly damp from his shower. They were gentle around Harry's own, curling his fingers securely around the quill and verbena stem. Harry licked his dry lips and shuddered, and that was when he felt Malfoy's warm breath tickling the back of his neck, raising the short hairs. That light brush of air tipped Harry over the edge and he threw himself backwards, tipping his chair over. Malfoy overbalanced and went sprawling on the floor, and Harry took the chance to dash down one of the aisles to freedom.

His chest burned, both from the rapid exertion and humiliation. It appeared he'd been wrong after all; Malfoy had just been waiting for more ammunition before outing Harry to the world. He could see the Prophet headline now – _Poofter Potter Panting Over Death Eater_, or something along those lines. Inexplicably, he felt betrayed. He didn't know why – it's not like he and Malfoy were friends, exactly – but he'd thought they'd developed a mutual respect over the last couple of weeks. Evidently, he was wrong.

"Potter!" he heard Malfoy call as loud as he dared in the library, and Harry ducked into a narrow aisle to try and shake him off. He pulled up short, cursing, when a solid wall blocked his path and he pivoted round, only to see Malfoy standing in his way. He was trapped.

Malfoy edged forwards with his palms raised. "Potter! Potter, please, I'm sorry."

That had Harry pausing in confusion. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Malfoy repeated imploringly, "I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

Harry snorted disbelievingly. "Right. You thought pressing your leg against mine and breathing down my neck wouldn't make me uncomfortable."

Malfoy winced. "I just... I thought..."

He broke off, scuffing his fancy, probably expensive Italian loafer on the ground. Harry waited, but no explanation was forthcoming. Harry took a deep breath; he felt like a complete bastard, doing this, but he needed to know.

"What did you think, Malfoy?" he asked, knowing the potion would give force Malfoy to give him an honest answer.

Malfoy flushed red. "I thought you'd like it as much as I did."

That made Harry's mouth fall open. _What?_

Malfoy picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his jumper. "What happened on Tuesday was an accident. I didn't mean to grab your hand like that. When it happened, I expected you to hex me, or tell me to get lost; instead, you had this look on your face, like you were... like you liked it, I suppose, or at least you didn't mind it. I thought that, maybe, you were like me."

"Like you?" Harry queried in a whisper.

"Gay," Malfoy murmured just as quietly, not looking at Harry, "I thought you were gay. Obviously you're not, and I've just completely embarrassed you and myself and now you know about me and please don't tell anyone..."

"I am," Harry blurted out without thinking.

"Am what?" Malfoy asked.

"Gay."

Malfoy blinked, gaping at Harry for several seconds. "But... but you ran away..."

"I thought you were straight," Harry confessed, "And I was afraid that I'd made a complete fool of myself and that you were going to let it slip to your housemates and the Prophet."

"I wouldn't," Malfoy said, "I won't."

They both stood still, staring disbelievingly at each other. Harry's stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies, and his head with cotton wool. He couldn't quite take the situation in. How had he gotten it so wrong?

_I told you_, Harry's brain said smugly through the cotton wool, _I told you he liked you!_

_He hasn't said that_, Harry tried to reason, _just that he's gay too_.

_But he was willing to out himself when he realised you might be gay too_, his brain shot back,_ therefore he _must_ like you. Now stop dawdling and get in there!_

Harry blinked in shock, suddenly realising that Malfoy had taken a step forward. Several conflicting emotions played across his features; disbelief, terror, hope. He licked his lips, and Harry swallowed heavily as the sight caused a not unpleasant stirring in his groin. He couldn't believe this was happening. After all his worry, all his despondency over the fact that Malfoy was straight and would never return his feelings... He felt like he was in a dream, and he just hoped he wouldn't wake up.

Malfoy took another small step, then another, and then he was right in front of Harry. Harry had to look up to meet his eyes – Malfoy was several inches taller than he was, a fact he'd never really noticed before. For a long moment neither of them moved. Then, Malfoy hesitantly raised a hand, the movement painstakingly slow, and brushed his fingers over Harry's cheek.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes slid shut. The contact seemed to set his skin on fire, making it tingle pleasantly. It felt right, so right, and before he knew what he was doing he raised his own hand, using it to hold Malfoy's against his face. There was a sharp intake of breath from Malfoy this time, and Harry forced his eyes open. Malfoy's cheeks were flushed, his mouth open slightly as he gasped. His eyes were stormy and brilliantly vibrant, boring into Harry in such a way that simultaneously made him feel weak at the knees and more powerful than ever before.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Potter?" Malfoy whispered.

"God, yes," Harry breathed.

Their first attempt was clumsy and awkward. Harry didn't tilt his head up far enough and his lips brushed against the fine stubble on Malfoy's chin, whilst Malfoy's mouth bumped clumsily against Harry's nose, knocking his glasses askew. They both pulled back, glancing shyly at each other, before Malfoy put a finger under Harry's chin and tipped his head up. This time, their mouths made contact, and that was much nicer.

The kiss was chaste, nothing more than a gentle pressure on Harry's lips, but even that slight contact made him want to melt and completely emptied his brain of everything else but the here and now. The Charms essay, worries about the veritaserum, even the fact that they were still in the library and completely on view to anyone who happened to walk past, all disappeared into the background. His eyes slipped shut automatically as he dove headfirst into an overpowering current of emotions that threatened to completely sweep him away.

Then one of Malfoy's hands reached up to grasp Harry's hair, holding his head in place, and a tongue swiped softly across his lips. Harry groaned and opened his mouth, letting Malfoy probe inside. He suddenly realised just how apathetic his kisses with Cho and Ginny had been; this was wet, yes, but it was so much more. He tentatively duelled Malfoy's tongue with his own, their teeth clacking together as they hungrily explored each other's mouths. Fireworks seemed to explode inside his brain and he barely noticed that he was pushing Malfoy up against one of the bookshelves to get more leverage. There seemed to be a direct line between his tongue and his groin, and he desperately fought the urge to press himself against Malfoy's thigh. He didn't think he'd ever experienced anything as wonderful as this.

Eventually, though, his need to breathe overrode his need to ravage Malfoy's mouth and he reluctantly pulled back, allowing his eyes to slip open. Malfoy's cheeks were flushed, his mouth hanging open as he, too, panted for breath. Harry had never seen the other boy so dishevelled, and that only increased his longing. Malfoy tightened his grip in Harry's hair and pulled his head forward until their damp foreheads were pressed against each other. The wonder and excitement and yearning Harry felt were mirrored in Malfoy's eyes.

"I want to do that again," Malfoy murmured.

Harry laughed. "So do I."

So they did.


End file.
